


The Gift of Laughter

by SpockPandaSaurus (xxpanda92xx)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Batfamily (DCU), Family Fluff, Gen, Laughter, No Romance, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26080543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxpanda92xx/pseuds/SpockPandaSaurus
Summary: Upon realizing it isn't as common an occurrence as it should be, Tim's family goes out of their way to make him laugh.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Barbara Gordon, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Jason Todd
Comments: 20
Kudos: 354





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been languishing in my hard drive since 2016 because I was never entirely happy with it. I've edited the hell out of it, and I think it's as good as it's going to get. Hope you enjoy!

The first time it happened, no one was prepared. Toes were stubbed, dishes were dropped, and even Alfred's eyebrow twitched. The Wayne Manor had been home to countless orphans growing up under its ancient eaves, and as such had been privy to all manner of sounds, but this one was new. Tim Drake had the giggles. Not just laughter - of course he had laughed before - but uncontrollable giggles that hiccuped out of him and forced blood to his cheeks and tears to his eyes. 

No one, not even Tim, knew where they came from. It was a fairly quiet night. Dick and Barbara were in an "on" stage of their on-again-off-again relationship, and had just returned from a boring patrol. Gotham was quiet lately; it made Bruce antsy, but there was nothing to be done. They couldn't _create_ crime just to have something to do ( _No, Jason, they couldn't, stop offering_ ). By unspoken accord, everyone had converged in one of the largest sitting rooms. Alfred had a fire roaring in the hearth, and was preparing a late night snack for them. Bruce was relaxing and reading, foot absentmindedly rubbing Ace's belly. Tim was sitting and working on an economics paper next to Jason, who was reading a book in a language no one else knew. Steph was buried under an oversized blanket she was crocheting, and Cass had her feet perched on Steph's knees to paint her toes better. Damian was curled into a nest of blankets and pillows with Titus and Pennyworth, dozing in the warmth. Babs came to join them carrying a book of sudoku puzzles. All was quiet and peaceful...

...until the eldest Wayne boy leaped onto the coffee table. He struck a dramatic pose, threw his hands in the air, and boomed in his best circus announcer voice, "Ladies and gentlemen!"

He opened his mouth to continue, but his next words were lost to a high-pitched yelp as Jason, without lifting his eyes from his book, pulled out a gun from under the couch cushions and shot Dick in the ass. It was a rubber bullet, and Dick was still in his suit, so it probably stung more than hurt, but the force was enough to knock him over. He fell face first on the floor.

Bruce opened his mouth to admonish Jason about guns in the house. Everyone froze, however, when the giggles were heard. Tim was clutching his laptop to keep it from falling to the floor as he doubled over, unable to stop. Jason finally pulled his nose out of his book, looking like a spooked cat. Damian jerked upright, throwing star in hand (apparently, Bruce needed to review the weapons in the house rule with _all_ his kids). Cass froze, polish dripping onto her nail. Steph slipped a stitch, stabbing herself with the hook. Babs looked over at Tim as she walked by and stubbed her toe on Dick's shoulder where he was still prone on the ground, contorted into a weird position to stare wide-eyed at his brother. Behind them all, a spoon clattered against a tray as Alfred raised an eyebrow (which was as vocal as a loud exclamation of surprise from the stoic man). 

And through it all, Tim just giggled. Not Joker-induced manic giggles, which was where all their thoughts initially raced. Just happy, uncontrollable laughter. "I'm sorry," Tim stuttered out between laughs, "I don't know - I can't stop."

"It's fine, Tim," Bruce chuckled affectionately. Dick and Jason joined in the infectious giggling, and everyone enjoyed the happy aura that overtook the room. They all returned to what they were doing, with Dick leaving to shower and change, and no one commented on the fact that Tim's body still shook with repressed laughter.


	2. Chapter 2

Tim wasn't sulking. Nope. So what if Alfred had benched him for a week? Over nothing more serious than a rolled ankle? He could totally use the time off! He had to worry about his college classes, his workload and meetings at Wayne Enterprises, fake a social life to keep the media from speculating on "Timothy Drake-Wayne suddenly becoming a hermit!" (never mind that all his 'friends' were teammates)... he was a busy man!

He was a bored man. So bored. He could fill his hours during the day, but that was already excruciating enough (today, someone in his study group had brought up the latest gossip that the current Robin was dating Red Hood because they seemed to get along well on patrols, and that Robin had looked very engaged in something Hood was saying in the newest photo that was floating all over the internet. He wasn't sure if he was more amused or repulsed - mostly concerned at what Jason and Damian had been discussing that captured the younger's attention - hopefully, it was about animals and not violence). But at night, with nothing to really distract him, he was going crazy. He appreciated getting to work through some of his Netflix queue, but he couldn't turn his mind off during most of the shows, so he was still restless.

A tap at the window of his bedroom in the Manor startled him. Babs was outside, telltale red hair shining under a street lamp. "I know you could have broken in," Tim told her as he opened the window.

"My dad raised me better than that. It's poor manners not to knock first. Now, go make popcorn. I finished my rounds early, so we're gonna watch a show to help keep you from going stir-crazy." She removed her cowl and pulled her hair out of its ponytail. "I'm gonna go grab a shower and some clothes, and then we'll watch."

"Thanks, but TV isn't keeping my attention, so it won't help. Go home and sleep."

"Trust me," Babs told him as she disappeared into the hall, "and go make popcorn. And grab drinks!"

****

Tim couldn't breathe. He was choking, suffocating. "Breathe!" Babs yelled, thumping him on the back.

"Master Tim? Miss Barbara? Is everything alright?" Alfred asked as he materialized in the doorway, concern bleeding from every pore. 

"Popcorn!" Tim gasped. "Inhaled popcorn." He coughed more, and Babs shoved a drink in his hand. Alfred relaxed instantly.

"You didn't tell me this show was hazardous to your health," Tim grumbled when he could talk properly. 

Babs rolled her eyes. "You're the one eating during a comedy show."

"You are too!"

"I take breaths in between bites!"

"I'm a growing boy," he muttered. "Besides, comedy doesn't usually make me laugh this much."

"Hey, Tim," Babs said in a mischievous voice.

"What?"

"TOW truck."

Alfred looked on as the two dissolved into giggles. He was curious, but he'd ask later. There was no danger, and these two deserved any breaks they could get. He was a little concerned when, later that week, Barbara held out a shiny case and offered Tim, "Cigarette?", but Tim's deadpan, "Yes, it is", followed by more of those rare giggles was the perfect time for him to ask. Apparently, they were watching Police Squad!, which they had finished, but he was welcome to join next time for Mystery Science Theater 3000.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a brief instance of homophobia. It's small and not directed at any of the main characters. If it makes you uncomfortable, you can stop reading after "He tried to feel guilty for wasting time, but it didn't feel like a waste" and skip to "He turned back to Steph."

"Get in, loser! We're going shopping!" Steph shouted into the phone. Tim could see her in the driveway, waving from her car. 

"I can't, Steph. I have two finals this week, three next week, plus three essays, a case that's kicking my ass, and Wayne Enterprise members waiting for me to slip up." Tim caught his reflection in the window and winced. His hair was unwashed and sticking up in ten directions, the bags under his eyes were almost more prominent than his eyes themselves, and the bruise from last night's fight looked worse than he'd anticipated. "Plus, I look like trash."

"But very cute trash. Don't worry, I'm here to help." Steph had snuck in during his preoccupation with how he looked, testifying to his exhaustion. To his credit, he didn't jump or startle. "First, go shower. Just grab underwear, I'm choosing your outfit," she ordered as he moved to the closet to grab clean clothes. He obeyed. He wanted to fight, but he knew that tone in Steph's voice. He could argue, waste time, and still end up going, but with them completely pissed off at one another. Or, he could go along with it, play nice, and get back sooner to do his work.

It did feel good to be clean again, he admitted to himself. Steph had an outfit laid out on the bed - slim fitting jeans with holes in the knee, a white shirt with a plaid button up to go over it, beat up Converse, and a beanie. "The hat is optional. Wasn't sure if you'd need it to go out with your hair wet."

Her back was turned to give him privacy, even though everyone in the family had seen way too much of each other already. He appreciated the gesture. "Are you trying to make me look like a ridiculous hipster?"

"I just found the softest, most comfortable looking things in your wardrobe. Don't blame me. If the shoe fits...."

"Point taken. I still can't go out though. Have you seen my face?"

"Yeah, you should really try this new fighting tactic. It's called 'blocking'. You might have heard of it, it's all the rage these days. Where do you keep your makeup?" He pointed to a box on top of his dresser. Steph perused the contents. All of the Bats had massive amounts of makeup stashed away, and had all found their own brands they preferred and techniques that worked for them. Everyone joked that all the Wayne adoptees looked the same, but it was pretty much impossible to swap makeup because of their varied heritages. Steph's only comment was, "You need some new sponges, these are getting gross," to which Tim shrugged. She wasn't wrong. 

He sat still patiently while Steph fixed his face. When she was done, he couldn't even tell where the bruising began. "So where are we going?"

"The mall."

He followed her down to her car and pretended to ponder the word. "Mall... mall... what is that again?"

"The meeting grounds of young adults and teenagers."

"Hmmm...sounds fake, but okay." She punched his arm. "So why are we going to this 'ma'all'," he dramatically mispronounced the word, "as you call it?"

"I need to get out, you need to get out, we can pretend to be normal and relax for a bit."

"We were never normal," he protested, but he settled into the seat and plugged his phone into the aux cord. They drove with only music as the background noise, no conversation, but Stephanie seemed to gradually unwind, so he leaned his head against the window and did his best to let his mind go blank.

Steph dragged him to the food court before anything else. "When was the last time you ate food that wasn't coffee and protein bars?" She shoved him towards Subway and went to stand in line at the Chinese place. They made small talk over lunch, chatting about their (lack of) love lives, classes, jobs, movies - normal people stuff. Tim was proud; it was no small feat for either of them. She stole some of his chips in exchange for orange chicken. They blew their straw wrappers at each other and had a thumb war. He tried to feel guilty for wasting time, but it didn't feel like a waste.

A woman was walking past with her daughter as Tim tried to pin Steph's thumb again; they were tied 2-2, and the winner would choose where the shopping trip started. "I don't see why you think you have to find a girl to marry. It's unnatural. You should be more like this young lady here. She found herself a nice young man, look how happy they are," the lady harped on her daughter, who looked close to tears.

"Ma'am," Tim said, looking away from his and Steph's entwined hands, "this here is my sister. I'm not sure that's the kind of marriage you want to push her to. I'd argue it's even more unnatural than a same sex one."

The woman hurried away, looking scandalized. The daughter followed, but glanced back over her shoulder. Tim gave her a smile and thumbs up, and when she walked away, she was starting to smile. 

He turned back to Steph. "This was an empty victory," she whined. She had pinned Tim's thumb while he was distracted.

"Rematch?"

"No! Come on, we're going to the Halloween store."

They walked to the seasonal store and quickly bypassed the tacky villain costumes that were under heavy fire in the news lately. In the words of one 'Jay Peters', the author of the letter to the Daily Planet that drew attention to the issue, "These people have destroyed more lives than we can count, from poor runaway children of drug addicts to the wealthiest of the top 1%. Lives have been destroyed; children beaten with crowbars and then blown up; and yet we honor these killers with costumes. As someone who was murdered once, this offends me." (Jason had been thrilled to find his letter - last line omitted - and the controversy on the front page with Clark Kent's byline, and had been smug for weeks.) Instead, Steph lead him to the silly hats and wigs, and they spent a good while trying on different things, with Steph Snapchatting the entire thing. 

"Oh my God, Tim, go away for a minute, I need to do something," she ordered.

Confused, Tim wandered over to the superhero section. He was surprised to find a Red Hood helmet, thinking it would have been over with the villains display. He put it on and sent a selfie to Jason. _"Pretty sure I pull this off better than you."_

Jason replied with the most unimpressed bitch face Tim had ever seen. Tim was saved from replying by Steph calling him back. He found her in a purple Teletubby costume, grinning. Once he got closer, he could hear Nicki Minaj's Anaconda playing from somewhere on her person, presumably her phone. Before he could ask, she started dancing to the song.

He couldn't handle the sight of Tinky Winky twerking to Nicki Minaj, not with how exhausted he was. He was giggling before he could check himself, and once he started, he couldn't stop. His stomach hurt as Steph finished the song and took a dramatic bow, then ducked into the changing room again. He calmed himself down and took off the Red Hood helmet he hadn't realized he was still wearing. When Steph rejoined him, an employee approached them. Tim pulled all his diplomacy to the forefront, ready to apologize and defer, and was startled when they asked permission to tweet a video they had taken of the shenanigans. "You can't see either of your faces, but I still wanted to ask first," the man explained.

The video showed Tim doubled over giggling while Steph danced with her back to him, face obscured by the ill-fitting costume hood. "I don't mind," Steph answered with a shrug. "You?"

"It's fine."

"Thanks! Here." The man handed them each a business card. "This has the shop's Twitter on it, in case you want to show it to anyone or something."

They said their goodbyes and finished their shopping. A couple quick stops, including buying Tim's makeup sponges, and they were on their way home. "Was that really all you wanted? To try on Halloween costumes and dance?"

"I just needed to do something silly and have fun."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he offered.

"Nope."

"Okay." They relaxed to the music that played as Steph drove him back to his apartment, but this time, Tim realized he was smiling.

"Get some rest before you get back to work," Steph said, giving Tim an awkward hug over the center console before he got out. 

As he collapsed on his bed, his phone chimed. It was a picture of Jason glaring at a computer screen. _"I have an image to maintain, asshole,"_ the message read.

Tim fought down the bubbling laughter and rolled over to nap before he could get drawn into a conversation.


	4. Chapter 4

In a turn of events that surprised everyone, Damian was obsessed with Pokemon Go. They all played, even Bruce (though that was mostly so he could understand why shouts of, "Guys, there's a Fearow in here!" caused a stampede), but Damian was by far the most intense about it. He went for walks every day, Titus and Ace in tow, and only looked up to check on the dogs. He fought in the gyms and damn near killed Tim when he took the Wayne Manor gym over for Team Mystic.

This week involved even more Pokemon than usual because Damian was sick. Alfred, Bruce, and Dick all agreed he shouldn't go out in the cold when he sounded like he was trying to cough up an entire lung and his nose was as red as Rudolph's. Dog walking had fallen to whichever Batkid was available (somehow, it was usually Tim). Damian had taken to shuffling around the house in pajamas with a blanket cape wrapped around him, phone in hand. Tim was uncertain if the blanket was for warmth's sake, or just the feeling of a cape at his back. Tim would withstand all kinds of supervillain torture before admitting how adorable it was. It was just hard to see the demon spawn as his usual lethal self when he was climbing on furniture, cursing the Staryu silhouette and the game's ineffectual tracking system.

It was during one of these Pokemon hunts that Tim brought Titus and Ace back from a walk. It was raining outside; the clouds had opened up about halfway through Tim's route, so he couldn't avoid it. The dogs shook themselves off and ran into the house. Tim followed in search of a towel. He saw Damian walking around, blanket cape trailing behind. The boy was distracted, swiping at his phone, when both dogs came bounding up.

The whole thing happened in slow motion. Damian stepped back to avoid being trampled by excited dogs. He slipped on his cape. Gravity pulled him backwards and onto the floor. He slammed back against the end table. It rocked a couple times, then sent the vase of flowers it held careening forward. It fell on Damian's head, dumping the contents onto his face and lap right as the dogs ran up. They barked and lapped at Damian's face before running off, leaving the boy in a puddle of flowers.

Tim tried to hold in his laughter for Dami's sake, but he couldn't help it. The son of Batman was sitting with a vase on his head and daisies in his lap. How could he not laugh?

"Master Tim, one really shouldn't take pleasure in another creature's misfortunes," Alfred admonished as he walked over to them, towels in hand.

"Occasionally, one might be forgiven a small twinge of satisfaction," Tim argued, still giggling.

"That is more than a 'small twinge', Drake. And it is hardly my fault my reflexes are hindered by my illness," Damian snapped.

Tim looked closer. He recognized that pout on his little brother's face. It meant Damian was secretly bothered, but intended to hide it and act like he wasn't. He shoved the rest of his laughter down and took a towel from Alfred. Instead of using it on his own dripping form, he gently untied the blanket cape and removed the vase and flowers before starting to towel the younger boy down. "Sorry, Dami." He tugged the kid into his lap to work with him, and regretted it instantly. For once, it wasn't because Damian had sharp elbows and sharper blades hidden on his person. _He's definitely gonna grow into Bruce's build._ Wrapping the towel around him and ignoring Damian's fierce glower, Tim told him, "Go change into something dry and meet me in the TV room."

He expected Damian to stalk off, middle fingers in the air, but received no response one way or the other. He accepted a towel for himself from Alfred and went to change. He raided his movie stash and went to the TV room to find Damian ensconced in a blanket nest, Pennyworth the cat in his lap. "What did you want? To waste my time?"

"No, to introduce you to Chinese martial arts films."

Damian perked up immediately. "You have extra training films that Father does not? I'm almost impressed, Drake."

Tim suppressed a smile. "Not exactly."

About five seconds into the first big fight scene, Damian turned to Tim with disgust plain on is face. "Why do you watch this drivel?"

Tim didn't answer, just smiled and ignored him in favor of watching the film. An hour later, Bruce walked past the room and paused. Peeking in, he found Tim lying on his side, laughing hysterically as Damian ranted at the TV. "That is not how physics work! And do you know how sharp his sword would have to be to do that? And the blade is so thin it would snap before it could penetrate anything!" Tim only laughed harder. Bruce noticed the secretly pleased smile on his youngest son's face and left to settle a dispute between his two eldest boys. At least Tim and Dami were getting along for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I love martial arts films, I just imagine Damian, having grown up in the League and training since the moment he was able, would not appreciate their theatricality properly. Also, Alfred and Tim's interaction here is lifted from an episode of the 60's Batman, though I can't remember which one at the moment.


	5. Chapter 5

_Something is burning,_ was Tim's first thought when his eyes flew open. It wasn't the greatest thing to wake up to, but not even in the top ten he'd faced before coffee. Probably not even the top twenty. Cautiously, he walked into the hallway, bo staff in hand. While he sincerely hoped this safehouse wasn't compromised - it was his favorite - he wasn't going to take any chances. 

Smoke was pouring out from the kitchen, as was a long, steady stream of curse words. Tim relaxed. Jason. He had crashed on Tim's couch after they wrapped up the case they had been working on together. Whatever was happening in the kitchen, Jay's voice wasn't being modified by helmet, nor were there any sounds of a fight. If anything, he sounded irritated, not under any type of threat.

A loud crash, metallic clanging, and an exceptionally loud, "Goddamn motherfucking shitfuck!" pulled Tim the rest of the way into the kitchen. It was chaos. He didn't know where to look first. The overflowing coffee pot on the counter? The smoking mass of mystery in a frying pan on the stove? The toaster upside down on the floor? The smoke detector on top of the trash can, disassembled? The pancake batter dripping from the ceiling? The overturned bowl of remaining batter on the floor, giant puddled spreading out from it? The notorious outlaw lying on the floor, covered in the goo and doing his best puppy eyes? The possibilities were endless.

"Don't be mad," were the first words out of Jason's mouth.

Tim was far from mad. Flabbergasted, certainly, and trying his damndest not to laugh, but not mad. Surveying the mess, he carefully made his way across the floor to the stove and turned everything off. He had to use his vigilante training to leap across the rest of the mess, hoist himself onto the sink counter, and open the window above it. He maneuvered himself so he was sitting on the edge. "Explain."

Jason was pulling himself to his feet by the edge of the counter, but his hand slipped in the coffee-batter mixture, and he fell back down with an undignified cry. Tim couldn't hold back his snort. "Well, I figured I'd make you breakfast as a thanks for letting me crash. Made the pancake mix, was cooking 'em next to the eggs-"

"Those were eggs?" Tim interrupted. It was easy to dodge the goop Jay flicked his way. "Very mature."

"I was cooking them while watching the eggs," Jason continued pointedly, "and the coffee was doing its thing. I flipped the pancake," he pointed up, "a bit too vigorously. When I looked at it, I saw the coffee was overflowing and spreading towards the toaster. I didn't want that to spark, so I shoved it outta the way, and it fell. Then the smoke detector started going off and I didn't wanna wake you yet, so I took it down-"

"Thank you for not shooting it."

"My guns were in the other room. Anyways, when I looked back at the eggs, I couldn't find the plastic fork I was working with, so I turned around to find it, elbowed the mixing bowl off the counter, and slipped in the mess. And that's when you came in."

Jay watched warily as Tim picked his way across the counters ("like a damn cat," he muttered) and inspected the black, smoking eggs. "Think I found your fork. There's one very stubbornly white blob on the edge of this. How the hell did you get the fork to melt like that? Were you cooking the eggs over the fires of Mordor?"

"Goddammit."

Tim looked at where Jason was making a futile attempt to claw batter out of his hair. _Hey, the white streak is back!_ For some reason, that stray thought was Tim's breaking point. He couldn't hold back his laughter anymore. He ignored Jason's glower (pancake batter significantly reduced the man's intimidation factor) and laughed until his sides hurt. Even with the newfound regularity of the occurrence, Tim was still surprised by how different his giggling sounded from his usual laughter.

"See if I ever make you breakfast again," Jason grumbled.

It only made Tim giggle more. "Oh God, please don't. My kitchen won't survive round two."

"Dick."

"Wrong brother."

"You aren't funny."

Tim just laughed harder.


	6. Chapter 6

"Am I clear, Black Bat?" Tim whispered into his comm.

"Go, I'll cover you," Cass murmured in his ear.

Tim dove and rolled behind the hedge to his right. Muffled cursing told him Cass was true to her word (thought that was to be expected). He wished for his suit, his staff, his belt, even just his domino, anything to give him an edge over his opponents. "Did you hit anyone?"

"Almost. I was too low with my shot. These are... difficult to adjust to."

Tim silently agreed. _I'm pinned. I hate this. Why did this seem like a good idea?_ Cautiously, moving as little as possible, he peered through the shrubbery to see what was happening. Unfortunately, the greenery was too well-maintained to offer him a view. He asked Cass, "Be my eyes. Is there any shot I can make?"

"Alpha team member approaching to your left. I'll cover."

"Where even are you?"

"Just trust me."

Tim gritted his teeth. He raised his gun and whirled out around the bush, still crouched low. He fired quickly at the purple-clad figure, then ducked back behind his shield-shrub. After a moment of quick surveillance, he began moving to another nearby point of cover, a large statue. It was a risky move, but he was trusting Black Bat to have his back.

"Dammit!" Barbara screeched. "Bruce, I'm down! Tim shot me."

"Point to Team Mystic," Alfred called out. 

-EARLIER-

"Why is it so fucking hot? It's October," Jason griped.

"Last minute heat wave or something. They were talking about it on the news," Tim answered, holding an ice pack to his face (he wasn't injured, just miserable).

"What, you don't remember the report word for word?"

"I hadn't had coffee yet."

"Fair." It was too hot to bicker.

Everyone was hiding in the Cave, where it was relatively cool. Still sweltering and stuffy, but cooler than anywhere else. They were using the Cave's waters as a pool, floating or treading water, expending minimal energy. 

"Kids, it's time for a training exercise," Bruce announced as he entered the cave.

He was greeted with a chorus of groans and grumbling. "Really, Bruce? Now?" Dick whined.

"Yes, now. Come collect your gear." Though he wasn't angry, his tone allowed no argument.

To their collective confusion, they were handed guns. Admittedly brightly colored, plastic ones, but that didn't really lessen their bewilderment. Tim honestly wasn't sure if real ones would have been more or less weird. They all stared at the objects in their hands uncertainly, until Jason broke the silence. "Does this mean I'm allowed head shots again?"

"For this exercise only." Bruce continued over Jason's excited whoop, "We will be having a water gun fight. We will split into teams of two. Your only equipment will be a private comm link between you and your partner. This is an exercise in trusting your partner and your natural abilities, not your equipment, gear, and tech.

"If you are hit, you will go to the penalty corner. Where are the exercise dice?" After a bit of rummaging, Dick found one and Damian, the other. "You will roll a number and an exercise and complete it before rejoining the game."

"Do we know where we got these yet?" Dick asked, tossing the foam block into the air and catching it idly. No one spoke up. The dice set had appeared one day in the training room, but no one had confessed to buying them. They worked excellently as a warm-up tool, though someone had Sharpied an extra zero to the end of each number; Tim had by far the easiest childhood of the lot, and even he could do fifteen push-ups before his Robin training.

"Regardless," Bruce said, "Points will be awarded to each team at Alfred's discretion." Jason raised his hand. "No, you don't get extra points for head shots. This isn't a video game." Jason pouted and lowered his hand. "Now, for teams-"

The usual duos began to shape. Damian took a couple steps towards Bruce. Steph and Cass high-fived. Dick smiled at Babs. Tim nodded at Jason, who nodded back.

"-We'll be changing it up. No one with their usual partners. Barbara, you can be on Team Alpha with me. The rest of you can decide who's on which team among yourselves. Also, choose a color for your team. Green is off limits. No team will have the advantage of camouflage."

The was some debate at first, as they tried to figure out who hadn't teamed up lately, until Damian suggested they start with Pokemon Go teams and split up further from there, if necessary. Somehow it worked. Tim and Cass were Mystic; Dick and Steph, Instinct; and Jason and Damian, Valor. It took some time for everyone to scrounge up clothing in their team's colors (except for Barbara, who picked purple for Team Alpha, and Jason and Damian since red was already in their everyday wardrobes), and then to slather themselves in sunblock. Once they were outside though, the battle was quickly underway.

-NOW-

Tim was pleased at the lead he and Cass were maintaining. Alpha was the closest, but Mystic had a clear advantage; it wasn't neck-to-neck. Tim attributed it to how well their fighting styles meshed. He planned to see if Cass wanted to work together more regularly after this. He stopped at a refueling station, which had been declared safe zones, and nodded at Damian, who was recapping his gun. "Enjoying yourself?" Damian bit his lip, looking conflicted. "It's okay to have fun," Tim reminded him gently. "It's not weakness."

"I know that, Drake," Damian snapped. Tim waited. "This has been pleasant," he finally acquiesced. "Do not tell Grayson. He will want to make it a daily occurrence."

"My lips are sealed. Go ahead, I'll give you a head start out of here before I take you down."

"Tt, it's you who will need an advantage, but I'll take it anyways."

Tim rolled his eyes as Damian took off running, and counted to ten in his head. He sprinted after the child. A yelp escaped him as he ducked under a spray in his direction (probably Jay covering Dami - extra points or not, he was enjoying the chance to take kill shots), but didn't slow down. He almost plowed into his quarry when Damian stopped short as a shot from the tree above almost hit him.

Damian spun around and fired into the tree. Cass dropped down, blue sports bra and spandex shorts dripping. It was the first hit she had taken all afternoon. Glaring, she took two steps towards Damian and hissed. Like a cat. Damian's eyes widened, and Tim broke out into laughter, the sound Cass had made ringing through his mind. It wasn't a hiss of anger or pain, which they had all let out at some point. It was an honest to God, catlike hiss. Somewhere, Selina was beaming in pride.

The more he thought about it, the more he laughed, until he was giggling hysterically. Damian shot him, apparently deciding his grace period was over. He followed Cass to what Jason had dubbed 'the corner of shame'. He started his sit ups while Cass did one-armed push-ups. The giggles made his ab workout a little more challenging, but Cass was smiling slightly and Tim was happy, so he didn't force it aside. Eventually, the laughter faded from his lungs. Cass finished her push-ups, refilled her gun, and walked back towards the yard. "Hey, Tim," she said, looking back.

"Yes?"

_"HISS!"_

The laughter was back in full force.


	7. Chapter 7

Tim stopped by the Cave after patrol to give Bruce the case files he needed and review everything they knew. This one wasn't meant to be a team up, but their individual cases had ended up being one and the same, and so they needed to compare info and plan their next moves. Damian gave Tim a side-eye of acknowledgment and went to shower, which Tim took to mean they were on friendly terms. Damian was hard to interpret sometimes, but the fact that he left Tim alone with Bruce without even a snide comment, let alone an assassination attempt, was probably a good sign. 

Bruce accepted the files and pulled them up on the computer. While he punched in data and ran calculations, he asked, "So... how are you?"

Tim raised an eyebrow, though the effect was ruined by his cowl. "Why?"

"No reason." Tim waited. Bruce admitted, "Clark said I should try and connect with you more."

"And suddenly you're taking parenting advice from Superman?"

Bruce turned to face him, spinning in the chair (that was one thing Tim missed since striking out on his own; it was a very comfy chair). Bruce, too, still wore his mask, and his mouth was a neutral line that Tim was familiar with, but meant his emotions were unreadable. "I realized that until recently, I've never heard you laugh like you have been." Awkward wording, but Tim knew what he was getting at. "I'm your... sometimes emotionally distant father." Tim snorted; understatement of the year goes to.... "I should at least know what your laugh sounds like." He turned back to the screen and stared intently at the data.

Tim sighed. "Don't know if I knew what it sounded like either, if that makes you feel better."

Bruce turned around again, this time taking off the hood. His eyes were troubled, a mixture of sad and angry. It was usually a face associated with Damian and any time he spoke about his past. Tim had always assumed it was distress over a loved one having such a terrible time, but if Bruce was directing it at Tim, that couldn't be right. He cared about Tim, certainly, but there was no way he loved him like his own son. "Not really," Bruce answered. He reached up and put a hand on Tim's bicep. "You deserved a childhood of laughter. And since your parents didn't give it to you, I should have, or at least made an effort to. You deserved better. Some days, I'm surprised you were Robin for as long as you were, that you didn't leave me sooner. You had every right to."

Tim pulled back his hood and wiped at his eyes, blinking rapidly. He wasn't sure how to answer that. Bruce apologizing was huge, especially unprompted by things like potentially fatal injuries. And Tim had an entire section of his brain dedicated to tearing himself down, doubting his every move, and second guessing his place in the family. Those words were worth the Batjet's weight in gold to him. "Bruce, I-"

"It's okay, Tim." Somehow, Bruce understood. He squeezed Tim's arm, then retracted his own. Awkwardly clearing his throat, he offered, "Coffee?"

Tim nodded, grateful for a moment alone to pull himself back together. And then it happened. Bruce stood, and his cape, caught in the wheels of the chair, had wrapped itself around his legs from his turning between Tim and the computer screen. He made no noise, no movement to save himself. He just... toppled over. Like a felled tree. 

Tim felt the mirth bubbling up inside, threatening to spill over. "Tell no one," Bruce ordered in his Batman voice.

"Too laa-ate!" sang out Dick from where he stood on the stairs.

"No capes!" Jason yelled from behind him, imitating Edna Mode.

"I'm telling you that thing really is a Kevlar ballgown. It's absurd!"

It was too much. Tim's raw emotional state, Batman collapsed on the floor, Nightwing and Red Hood joking around - Tim lost it. He giggled, high-pitched and carefree. The sound rang out throughout the cave, echoing off the walls. Poor Batcow lowed in response, she was so startled, and that just made Tim giggle more. He doubled over, clutching his stomach and rubbing tears from his eyes again, these ones from joy. Batman gave a long suffering sigh and extricated himself, while Dick and Jason once again joined in the laughter. Damian flying in and demanding to know what had happened only made them laugh harder. It was a long time before any detective work was done.


	8. Chapter 8

"I know I'm right," Tim told Alfred confidently.

"Is that so, Master Tim?" Alfred commented without inflection as he continued breakfast preparations.

Tim took a sip of coffee, tapping his leg restlessly on his barstool. It was a quiet day without anything scheduled, and he wasn't sure how to handle it, hence him sitting and talking to Alfred. "Of course. I mean, the first time was probably unplanned. Dick was just being himself and Jason wanted to read in peace. But after that? I know they did it on purpose."

Alfred set a plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and biscuits drowned in gravy in front of Tim. "Are you really so certain?"

"Of course. Babs was at least subtle with the TV show. And even though I love her, I don't know Cass well enough yet to know if she just randomly hisses at people when they make her mad. But both Bruce and Damian falling over? Riiiiiight. Steph twerking as a Teletubby? Uh huh, totally likely. And Jason failing at cooking? Please, he was already fairly independent before Bruce took him in. There's no way he could mess up that badly."

"So your conclusion is that they are going out of their way to make you laugh? What are your thoughts on the matter? Does it bother you?"

Tim smiled. "Not at all." How could it? The thought that they were all going so far out of their way for him, trying to make him laugh so hard he couldn't stop, filled him with warmth. He was always fighting that part of his brain telling he wasn't good enough, that no matter how hard he tried it wouldn't be sufficient. He was the replacement, the usurper to a throne that wasn't his, and it was quickly handed to another when the opportunity arose. Most days, he managed to get by, focused on things more important than his insecurities, but sometimes his thoughts were all he had. Had he really earned his spot in the family, or was it only that he forced his way in and they didn't have the heart to kick him out? Was he actually around because they wanted him? Or just because he was useful?

These latest antics, however, had quieted those doubts. It was one thing to be nice to someone you found tolerable. It was another thing entirely to act contrary to your nature, take time out of your day, and let yourself be vulnerable in front of someone, to share a part of your life with them, and to let yourself be silly in front of them. Whether or not he had earned or deserved it, he had his family's love. He appreciated the gift they were giving him, so he gave them one of his own. He rarely held in his laughter, contained his giggles with a significantly lower frequency, smiled more. At least around his messy, ever-growing family, he let himself relax, reminding himself he didn't have to prove himself to these people anymore (though he suspected he always would feel the need to). He still had doubts, but now they whispered instead of screamed.

He finished his breakfast. Alfred cleared the dishes away, washed them, and dried them. In the meantime, his kitchen lost one thought-consumed Tim and gained a curiosity-filled family. "What did he say?" Dick asked, bouncing in his seat.

Alfred set a tray full of muffins, donuts, and other pastries next to a platter of fruit kept on the counter for snacking purposes (Alfred had quickly learned that the easier the snack, the less of a mess his kitchen would be). "He knows that you are all working to make him laugh. He is unperturbed by this, and appeared fond and happy when thinking about it. He is, however, of the belief that the first incident was completely unscripted, instead of a plan to bring about merriment."

"So I get an extra point?" Dick asked.

"Nah, you weren't trying to make Tim laugh. You were just being an idiot. Doesn't count," Jason argued.

"Master Jason is correct. As it is, you are all tied at one point a piece." Alfred opened a cabinet to reveal a chalkboard with a scoreboard written neatly across it. "Except for Master Damian, who has two."

"How'd you get two?" Steph asked, munching on a muffin.

"I suffered through those terrible movies and made humorous commentary." Damian would return to the grave before admitting that the flowers falling atop him was unplanned; that his pride had been actually wounded; and that he had joined Tim out of curiosity at what he would extend as an olive branch. It definitely had nothing to do with wanting to foster a more positive relationship with the brother he had alienated most; it was all about winning the competition over who could make Drake laugh the most. Which he was. 

"Speaking of which," Alfred continued as he flipped the board around, "Master Bruce won this month's poll on who would win. It's time to pay up."

The back of the board revealed that most had bet on Dick or Stephanie, but Bruce had voted Damian most likely to win. As Bruce pulled out his wallet, Damian asked, "You thought I would win, Father?"

"Looks like I was right," Bruce answered with a smile. "So how does this work, Alfred? Do we restart each month?"

"New bets each month, but we'll keep the score running. Give me your bets by the end of the day, please."

"No fair, the kid's starting one ahead!"

"Yes, Master Jason. You can always pull out if you don't think you can keep up." Alfred required all of his training and self-control not to laugh at Jason's offended face. He might have been a man over six feet tall now, but so many little mannerisms remained from the boy who had left them too soon, like the set of his jaw when offended and the sparkle in his eyes when challenged. It was the face he made when facing one of Bruce's training methods he didn't like, and probably the face under that red helmet when he leaped into the fray when fighting some of Gotham's less respectable villains.

Alfred let himself fade into the background as they began to bicker and joke. If it wouldn't go against the nature of the game, he would thank Tim for this scene. Tim's willingness to accept the gift of laughter from his family gave Alfred the gift of a family reunited. Everyone had strained relationships from time to time. Bruce, despite his best efforts, was sometimes a terrible father. But here they all were, sitting around a counter and eating pastries. Damian was nestled in his father's lap due to a convenient lack of seating. Feuds had been forgotten in favor of making Tim laugh and turning it into a sport. Alfred's heart was more full than the Manor's china cabinets, and he owed it all to Tim's laughter.


End file.
